


Drink, Drank, Drunk

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Drunkenness, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, I Blame Tumblr, Inspired by Real Events, Tequila, Tumblr Prompt, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Tom and Shaz get Bridget drunk on tequila, and it takes a turn for the bizarre. Luckily for Mark, he's the only one who can reel her in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt request, based on [this tumblr post](http://hisreindeerjumper.tumblr.com/tagged/mark-and-bridget) that I had reblogged because it sounded exactly like Mark and Bridget.

Mark was surprised to find Shazzer and Tom on his front stoop at 11:45 at night with no Bridget in tow. 

“Shazzer, Tom,” he said, giving them a nod. He was already in his pajamas, which slightly embarrassed him. He crossed his arms across his chest, trying to hide the undershirt he was wearing. “Where's Bridget? Is everything OK?”

Shazzer looked at Tom with a snort of laughter, and Tom gave her an exasperated look, rolling his eyes in the process. “Well, yes, I suppose everything is as OK as it could be,” Tom started. He gave Mark a sheepish look, shoving his hands in his pockets. “See, the thing is...Bridget had a _little_ too much to drink tonight, and things got kind of out of hand…”

Mark felt his chest tighten. “She's not in jail, is she?” he asked as he reached for the keys that were on the table next to the door. If he was going to have to bail her out of jail, he should probably go change his pants and put on a proper shirt.

Shazzer guffawed and muttered, “I _wish_ she was in jail,” to which Tom swiftly jabbed her in the ribs. “Oi! That fucking hurt!” she said, grabbing at the spot on her torso. Tom gave her a withering look as a voice echoed down the street.

“ _Fuck Daniel Cleaver! I murdered him ages ago! He's got a lot of nerve showing up tonight, back from the dead! Zombie Cleaver is more like it!”_

Mark’s brow furrowed as he recognized the voice. “Is that...is that _Bridget?_ ” he asked incredulously. Shaz gave him a sheepish smile as Tom shrugged.

“We told you she had too much to drink,” Tom said as he looked down the street to where the voice was echoing off the houses. “It was tequila night at the pub, and a few innocent margaritas turned into shots of Patrón...we probably should've been a bit more _responsible,_ but you know we're piss poor at that.”

Mark ran a hand over his face. “Why aren't you as belligerent as she is?” he asked.

“Welllllll, we were shot for shot until Daniel walked in. He sauntered over to Bridge and started making lewd comments to her (which she handled _very_ well, I may add). But then it all kind of went tits up when he started in on y--never mind.”

Mark’s eyes flashed and he clenched his fists. “He started in about _me?_ ” He could feel his blood boiling at Cleaver’s audacity. _Can't he just bloody well leave us alone?_

“I mean...well, yeah,” Tom said deflatedly. “Something about you being a wanker and her being much better off when they were together. Best sex of their lives, something along those lines...you can't be a very good shag because you're too polite and probably apologize for coming. Honestly, it's all kind of hazy to me. All I know is that Bridge _lost it._ Went absolute bananas on him, cursing him up one side and down the other. She basically told him that your prick is _way_ bigger than his, and I don't think he liked that very much. He stalked off and we didn't see him for the rest of the night, but we couldn't reel her in after that.”

Mark could feel the heat on the back of his neck as he set his jaw. Part of him was embarrassed about the accuracy Daniel stated about him coming (he couldn't help it--old habits die hard), but he was also quite pleased that Bridget had shut him down by stating the size of his manhood. Usually things like they didn't matter to Mark, but when it came to Bridget and Daniel, they most certainly did.

“So, what ended up happening? Why is she banging on about murdering him?” Mark asked as he peeked his head around the doorframe to look down the street. Thankfully he lived in a quiet neighborhood with little traffic, because Bridget was standing in the middle of his street, bathed in a pool of light from the street lamp. She truly couldn't have made herself more conspicuous if she tried.

“That’s probably my fault,” Shazzer chimed in. “We had been talking about the Amanda Knox case before Daniel showed up--you know the one, right?” Mark gave her one of his best looks of disbelief-- _I’m a bloody human rights barrister, Shaz. Of course I know the case._ He only nodded to avoid an offshoot of conversation.

“Yah, well, we had been talking about that--how we thought she did it, if she was even guilty, blah blah blah--and then Daniel started in about you. Once he left, I guess the conversation mixed with the Patron and she was fixated on the fact that _she_ had murdered Daniel...which we all know isn’t true, but I couldn’t help egging her on at first, because let’s be honest. It’s funny. But now she won’t stop banging on about it. It was a bloody nightmare getting her in the fucking cab to get her here. I’m surprised the cabbie didn’t fucking well throw us out onto our arses.”

Mark let out a groan. “Let me get my coat,” he said. He turned towards the closet and pulled on his coat and slipped into a pair of trainers he had left by his front door. “Let me go talk to her first--you two stay here, and if I need help, I’ll call for you.” Tom and Shaz nodded solemnly, only to be followed by a drunken grin.

As he strode across the dimly lit street, Mark could see that Bridget was three sheets to the wind. She was shouting into the abyss, her arms out at her sides, stumbling as she turned in a wobbly circle. “That’s right! I killed him! With-- _hic_ \--with a blood-bloody bobby pin and some-- _hic_ \--floss! Showed him who’s boss! And _now_ I have the m-most wonderfullllll boy-boyfriend in all of England! MARK! FUCKING! DARCY! THAT’S RIGHT! MARK! DARCY!”

“Bridget, for God’s sake,” he said as he walked up to her. He gently took her elbow to guide her back to the house, and with a delayed reaction, she looked up at him. Anger was flashing in her eyes, but it melted away when she realized who had grabbed her.

“Oh, hello, M-Mark! _Hic_ . What are you doing here? S’late...you should be-- _hic_ \--sssssleeping,” she slurred, stumbling a little against him. She put an arm around his arm that was closest to her, and wrapped the other around it into boa constrictor tight squeeze. “Missed you, my love-lovely Marky Mark.” She snorted. “Hahaha, Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.”

“Bridget,” Mark said sternly, trying to guide her back to his house. “Stop. You’re going to wake the neighbors.” Mark gave a worried look down the row of homes that resided on his street. He had never had an issue in this neighborhood, and he would be remiss if the first time the cops had to be called was because of his drunken girlfriend. The anger that had been in her eyes before now flashed back. _Fuck,_ Mark thought as he looked down at her. _Here it comes_.

“Oh, am I too _loud_ f-for your-- _hic_ \--neighbors? WELL THAT’S TOO BAD. BECAUSE I MURDERED DANIEL CLEAVER AND EVERYONE NEEDS TO KNOW ABOUT IT!” She had let go of his arm and was now wobbling in her circle again. “Daniel Cleaver is a fucking _wanker_ and I _killed him_ ! He thinks he’s so p-posh and-- _hic_ \-- _funny_. Well he ISN’T! I murdered him and that-that’s that!”

Mark felt the bottom of his stomach drop as he saw a few lights in the neighboring houses come on. “Bridget,” he said quietly, grabbing her elbow again. “Please. Can’t we talk about this inside? We don’t need to be out here to talk. Let’s head in. I’ll get you a water and order a pizza. Please, just come inside.”

Bridget turned towards him, swaying slightly. Her face was flushed, and her arms dropped to her sides. “Pizza does ssssound good,” she said. “But I don’t want t-to talk about-- _hic_ \--Daniel Cleaver inside. I want to talk about h-him-- _hic_ \-- _now_ . He’s a terrible, terrible human and I-I can’t-- _hic_ \--believe I _ever_ let him PUT HIS PENIS INSIDE OF ME!”

Mark flushed crimson as he clapped a hand over Bridget’s mouth. “Bridget, for God’s sake, will you stop? That’s behind us now. Stop talking about it and come inside.” He started to guide her back to his house, where Shaz and Tom were still standing on his stoop. _All they need is popcorn,_ he thought with begrudging vehemence.

Bridget stumbled against Mark, allowing herself to be guided by him. She was murmuring under her breath as they made their way up the street. “Have _lovely_ boyfriend now. Who cares if he ap-apologizes when he comes? I think it’s sweet. And he has a _lovely_ penis. F-fucking-- _hic--_ Daniel Cleaver.” Mark smiled, despite the mess that Bridget was in. _Loyal to the umpteenth degree._

“I think you’re lovely, too,” Mark said to her, trying to keep on a positive topic as he approached his house. She looked up at him, her eyes going slightly crossed before focusing on his face. He saw her squint her eyes and smile as she patted his arm. “No, _you’re_ lovely,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder. Mark gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

They were almost to the stoop, when something in Bridget ignited again. “BUT EVERYONE ON THIS STREET NEEDS TO KNOW THAT I MURDERED HIM!” It was this outburst that finally pushed one of his neighbors over the edge. He could hear the faint sound of a window opening up the street, and the next thing he knew, someone was screaming down the street, “ _WILL YOU BLOODY WELL SHUT UP? IT’S MIDNIGHT!”_

Bridget turned around, still holding onto Mark’s arm and yelled, “QUIT SCREAMING, OR-OR-- _hic--_ YOU’LL BE NEXT!”

Mark groaned and gave her a gentle yank. “Stop telling people you’re a murderer. You’re not. You’re a news reporter who has one of the most gentle hearts I’ve ever seen. You can’t even kill a spider, despite you hating them. So stop screaming and yelling and get into the house. We all know you didn’t murder Daniel Cleaver. We just saw him last week when we went to the market.” He kept his voice even-keeled, trying with all of his might to not lose it.

Bridget squinted back up at him. “But what if I _wanted_ to kill him?” she drunkenly asked. At this, Mark couldn’t help laughing. _Join the club._ Looking down at Bridget’s face, he replied, “Luckily for you, I know a few good barristers.” Bridget nodded solemnly. “Let’s get you inside now and order that pizza. And water. Lots of water.”

As Mark and Bridget walked up the steps to his house, Tom and Shaz gave him a sympathetic look of knowing. “Sorry,” Tom mouthed at him as Shazzer clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, for being so dull,” she said. Mark looked back at her and said, “Thanks...I think. I’ve got it from here. You can head out if you want. Thanks for bringing her back in one piece.” Tom and Shaz smiled at him and waved goodbye.

Just before closing the door behind him, Mark heard Tom yell, “You might want to get her to a toilet--you know she’ll puke any second!” Mark waved a hand out the door at him and said, “Yes, I know. Thanks again.” He turned around to find Bridget sitting on the floor of his foyer, her feet splayed out in front of her and her shoulders slumped.

“Come on, love,” he said, hoisting her up into his arms. “Let’s get you out of these clothes, sit you down next to the toilet, and pretend this night never happened.” Bridget nodded against his shoulder. Mark scooped her legs out from underneath her to carry her upstairs as her head lolled against him. He kissed her gently on the forehead, despite the annoyance and frustration he was feeling at the night’s events.

Once she was changed into a pair of his pajama pants and one of his old t-shirts, Mark brought her into the en suite and sat her on the floor near the toilet. He could see the green tinge of sickness inching up her face, and he knew that at any minute it would make its appearance. “Darling, I’m going to go order you pizza and grab you a glass of water. Aim for the toilet if you feel sick,” he said, turning towards the door.

“Mark?” she said feebly, leaning her head against the porcelain of the toilet.

“Yes, love?” he said, stopping at the door.

“Love you and your perfect penis.”

Mark smirked and shook his head. “Love you too, my little serial killer.” She smiled at him before her head quickly disappeared into the bowl of the toilet.

It was going to be a long night.


End file.
